When The Canary Sings

Leverage

"That's today?" I ask, flicking a light on, the warm yellow light filling the room.

"Yes! Haymitch!" Effie scolds, wearing a white blouse under a hot pink blazer and a navy blue pencil skirt. She batted her hot pink lashes, "now," she says, brushing her blonde hair out of her face. "Where's Becca? We tried her house, but no one answered."

"Upstairs sleeping," I said, "she doesn't really sleep at her house no more," I say, "after her..." I motion my hand and Effie sighs.

"Poor girl," she says, "go get her will you? Cinna and Ophelia already started to set up in the kitchen!" She smiled, pushing me towards the stairs. I groaned and rolled my eyes. Sure, she said poor girl now, but when she's thrown into a death game, she's called a tribute. When she's forced to wear short and revealing dresses, she's called a temptress, and when her only family is dead, she's called tragic.

I ascend the stairs and turn the hallway light on. I slowly walk towards Becca's room and tap on the door before walking in.

For once, Will isn't asleep in the bed or on the floor, and her window is shut. Her body is turned, facing the wall and the covers are barely covering her. Restless sleeper. Her snake, Milky sits in a glass box full of small rocks and plants next to her bed, staring at her like some sort of guardian angel.

I walk over and gently set my hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," I whisper, giving her a gentle nudge. "Becca, wake up." I say, and she groans, swatting her hand backwards. "Hey! Don't kill the messenger," I laugh, and she groans.

"What?" she mumbles as she flips over, staring up at me. For a second, my heart squeezes, and my lungs close up. I hated to wake the girl up from the first peaceful sleep she's had in ages.

"It's the photoshoot," I say, and she rubs her eyes.

"Too early. Tell them to go away." She mumbles, rolling over and shoving her face into the pillow.

"Can't, kiddo," I say, "five minutes, then come down." I whisper, patting her hair and walking out, leaving the door open and letting the hallway light flood her dark room.

I walk downstairs to my living room being completely rearranged. The furniture is moved to the sides, leaving an empty plot of hardwood floor. My kitchen is scattered with make up, and a rolling rack of clothing. In the middle of the room, a large brown crate that is sealed shut sits. Ophelia and Cinna sat huddled in the corner as Effie gazed out the window.

"Where is she?" Ophelia asked, "she needs to see what we've brought!" She squeals. I shoot her a weird look and sit down at the table. Just on cue, a tired Becca walks into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and dressed in one of my shirts.

My heart squeezes a little tighter.

"Hi Effie. Hi Cinna. Hi Ophelia." She greets, pushing back her red hair. Although saying hello, she sits down at the table next to me first. "Hi Haymitch." She mumbles, leaning her head on her hands for a quick second before Ophelia and Effie were all over her. Telling her how grown up she's gotten, how much she's grown into herself, and how older looking she's gotten. Three different ways of saying the same thing with a nasty truth behind it.

"Alright darling," Effie started, "Ophelia and Cinna are going to start dressing you, alright?" She said, and Becca tiredly nodded. "Haymitch, we'll let them work their magic, now come into the living room." She says, taking my hand and dragging me out of my own kitchen. Once we are gone, a black veil is hung over the entrance to the kitchen for privacy.

I think back to around nine years ago, when Finnick Odair had just won. His victory tour posters were him practically naked, the only thing covering him was a woven net that was draped over his shoulders like a toga, and tan shorts that one could barely see.